


Conscription

by Somnum



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Gen, Humanstuck, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-29
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-15 06:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somnum/pseuds/Somnum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The letter enlisted him.<br/>The Sergeant Major taught him.<br/>The plane shipped him out.<br/>Dave Strider has to save himself.</p><p>1940s military AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Begin

The white envelope was deceptively normal looking; almost plain enough for Dave to forget what it contained. Almost, but not quite. The date on it was burned into his memory; as were the solemn words imprinted on it. Unbidden, they drifted to the forefront of his brain.

_“To Dave Jacob Strider_  
 _Order No. 20319_  
 _GREETING:_  
 _Having submitted yourself to a Local Board composed of your neighbors for the purpose of determining your availability for training and service in the armed forces of the United States, you are hereby notified that you have been selected for training and service in the ARMY. You will, therefore, report to the Local Board named above at 2905-07 Scott Place, Bx. N.Y., at 6:30 a.m., on the 11th day of March, 1942.”_

It continued on, discussing transport, employment status, and other suddenly trivial things. Someone had signed off on the form with a gusto that made Dave’s stomach ache. He could help but think that someone out there was actually goddamn enjoying this; getting their jollies by plucking the men from families. Dave sighed and slumped into a kitchen chair, cradling a mug of black coffee. Not that he’d be leaving any family behind, he thought wryly, glancing at a small framed photo. His brother had enlisted by choice back in 1940. All that was left of him was a letter of consolation and a folded American flag the uniformed officer who had delivered the news had handed him. Pushing the thought of his brother from his mind, Dave blankly took another swallow of his coffee. 

Giving the mug a quick rinse of water and placing it on the drying rack, Dave grabbed his jacket, making sure to stick the draft letter in his pocket. Pushing his trunk of stuff out the door, he took one last look around, remembering at the last second to snatch up the photograph of his brother and him. With a click of finality, Dave pulled the door to his apartment shut. 

“So you are leaving I take it?” The question drifted past Dave from his left. Turning slightly, Dave saw his neighbor standing in the doorway of her apartment. Her blonde hair was slightly messed up, and she had a bathrobe pulled on. Dave nodded, ignoring the lump in his throat. He could remember when Rose had moved in, dignified and neat. She had kept that dignity, but oil permanently stained her fingertips and bits of her hair. “Promise me you won’t die Dave.”

Shooting her a sad smile and receiving a gloomy upturn of the mouth in response, Dave replied. “I can’t do that Rose. I wish to god I could.” She looked down, silent for a moment. Enveloping her in a quick hug, Dave closed his eyes briefly. “You have the keys to my apartment. Hopefully I’ll be back.” Not knowing what else to say, Dave pulled away, rubbing a hand across his eyes. He wasn’t crying. That would be ridiculous. 

With a tight nod, Rose waved farewell before shutting herself in her apartment. Turning away, Dave picked up the end of trunk and headed down the small stairs. They were narrow and wound down one side of the building, making them convenient for no one. Dave was glad for the privacy they offered at this time; the chances of him running into anyone else at this hour were rather slim. Yanking his trunk around a particularly stubborn bend, he began to mentally run through the steps it would require to get to New York. There was the walking to the nearest train station to deal with, and then of course the deadly dull train ride up to New York.

Exiting his apartment building, Dave took one last moment to glance up at its imposing façade. It was curious. He would miss this place, but not particularly much. It was more saddening to think of leaving it behind than to actually leave it behind. After all, he supposed he had best be cheerful. He was off to fight for his country against evil forces. It sounded like the fantasies of a young boy, one obsessed with justice and fairness. With a brief bitter laugh to himself, Dave hoisted up his trunk once again and briskly walked towards the train station. It soon rose into view, its stately tower appearing from behind a squat factory. 

Procuring a ticket only took a few short minutes; Dave had been through the procedure hundreds of times, though never for a ticket that would take him so far away. From there it was but a matter of waiting for his train to pull up at the station. There was no crowd to wade through; most men were dead or gone, and the majority of women had in town jobs. His footsteps echoing against the stone floor, Dave easily made his way to platform two. The wait could have only lasted about ten minutes, but every second seemed to stretch and warp to fill the space of four others, creating a syrup slow mess of time. Cursing his decision to not bring so much as a book, he stood alone on the platform, occasionally checking his watch.

The sound of grinding gears broke Dave from his reoccurring daydream of his last day with his brother. The monstrous train eased its way to a full stop with a groan and a whistle. Picking up his suitcase from its place near his feet, Dave quickly boarded the train, not bothering with a final look at the station. Taking the seat closest to the doors, Dave settled in for an excruciatingly long train ride. Resting his head against the back of the seat, he attempted to sleep. The steady sound of the rotating wheels soon lulled him away from the land of consciousness. 

====================================================================>

Shifting uneasily in his freshly starched training uniform, Dave tapped his foot against the tiled floor of the barber shop. It was like a breath of fresh air, being back in civilian areas, but at the same time it was exceedingly odd. There was no one barking orders, no other trainees watching your every move, no constant drilling, and the list went on. It was unnerving to tell the absolute truth, making Dave all the more glad that it was only to be lasting for one afternoon. “I got one Strider up next,” called out the heavyset barber, reading off a sheet of paper.

Stepping forward, Dave moved to sit in the plain black chair next to the man. He knew what was coming. The sound of razors had been all that he’d heard for the afternoon. He had seen other trainees coming back with buzz cuts, looking curiously younger. Still, he was unprepared for the shock of the razor cutting away his hair. His head felt oddly light, not to mention the cold air that now tickled the patches that had been done. The barber was quick and efficient, leaving him no time to mourn over his fallen blond locks. He was shorn and slapped on the back, made to go rejoin the line of trainees. 

Fascinated with the shiny newness of their haircuts, everyone spent the ride back to base touching their short hair. Occasionally someone would reach out and pat a friend jokingly on the head. Sitting on his own, Dave continuously ran a hand over his scalp, mesmerized by the feel of the short bristles on his palm. He could recall the picture his brother had sent home of him on the day he got his hair cut. His head had looked so bizarre, and Dave had the oddest feeling that he was never meant to see his brother like that. Perhaps Rose would want to see his new haircut. It wasn’t like he had anyone else to send a photograph to anyways. 

The ride was but a few minutes, for the training base was not exactly isolated in terms of location. Dave was shoved off in a tangle of feet and pushing hands. The disorder was a sudden change from the strict rules that had found their way into every aspect of his life. Joining the ten other recruits who had been taken in to town, Dave filed into the line heading for the mess hall. The dull roar of hundreds of voices talking at low levels filled it, accompanied by clattering utensils. Falling into the meal line, Dave soon received his tray of allotted food, which appeared to be a scoop of mashed potatoes, twenty boiled green beans, a square of over cooked beef, an apple, and a small carton of milk.

Crossing the mess hall to reach his assigned table, Dave sat down, back ramrod straight. His five table mates looked up at the sudden intrusion before most of them turned their gazes back to their food. “You’re late,” the man sitting across from him commented in a soft tone. Dave shrugged and gestured to his newly shorn hair, beginning to cut his meat into bite size pieces. He popped one in his mouth, careful to chew it only seven times before swallowing, aware of the watchful look directed at him.

“I was in town Tavros. You can ask Sergeant Major Captor, he was the one who took us brought us in. and besides, there ain’t no place in the camp where you can get a haircut as attractive as this one.” Tavros cracked a smile at that, ducking his head down to hide it. Dave didn’t quite know Tavros’s story; it wasn’t something you really went around and asked your army buddies. Still, even with his occasionally shy demeanor, Dave found him one of the better people he had met. Except for the occasion on which he had tried to engage Dave in some rhyming game that was apparently big where he was from. Not one to back down from a verbal challenge, Dave had found Tavros’s skills in that department to be rather lacking.

Tapping his fork on his plate, Sergeant Major Vantas frowned at them from his seat at the head of the table. “Look ladies, as much as gossip session would just be stellar, we’ve got shit to be doing. So Strider, shut your trap, and Nitram, I’m putting you in charge of making sure he doesn’t over chew. You’ve got five minutes before I expect to see you on field three. Better be there if you don’t want to be helping with the dish washing for the next month.” 

Dave saluted Sergeant Major Vantas with what would have been a lazy motion if he thought he could have gotten away with it, but knowing he might just find himself on hard labor duty for the foreseeable future if he did, he made sure it was crisp and faultless. Tavros responded likewise, though his was probably sharp and firm out of a genuine respect for the Sergeant Major. Waiting until the group of four was out of eye sight, Dave began to work through the rest of his meal. The meat was tough and flavorless, not that he had been expecting better. The mashed potatoes weren’t half bad, but the mess hall did seem to have better luck with starches anyway. 

“Uh, did you hear?” Tavros asked, bored with the task of counting Dave’s chews. With a firm shake of his head, Dave cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah, um, Sergeant Major told me that we’re going to be merging with another squad for training tomorrow. To prep us for heading over to Europe. I still, uhh, don’t know exactly where in Europe we’re going though…” 

“I don’t think they like to tell us where we’re being sent in case we blab it to someone in a letter. I know they censor them, but those damn bastards are tricky,” Dave said, hoping for a bit of levity. “That reminds me, I’m going to run over to get a photo of my new up do. I know Sergeant Major Vantas will practically have a heart attack; tell him that Sergeant Major Captor ordered me to do so.” Standing up from his seat and easily swinging his legs over the bench, Dave dumped his utensils and trey in the required spot before booking it to the one man who was allowed to take photographs on base: the head physician. 

Many thought it odd that a physician had chosen photography as a hobby of sorts, but according to him it made perfect sense. After all, what better way to track patient’s progress or to allow long term studies of wounds was there than a lasting photograph? Of course, it meant he was the one roped into taking photos of recruits to send back home. 

Rounding the corner of the infirmary, Dave mentally congratulated himself. There wasn’t much of a line, but there were enough men that the doctor would have equipment ready to go. As he took his place in line, a freckly boy with buzz cut black hair was scowling into the camera; apparently none too pleased about the whole required photo shenanigans. He was able to leave the murky dimness of the back corner of the infirmary before long, practically leaping off the seat and running to the door. Next in line was a slight male who too had newly shortened black hair. However, he was not nearly as angry, nor as freckly. He sat down and froze for the camera, the little light dusting the frames of his square glasses and catching on his slightly protruding top teeth. There was no smile gracing his face, but no sneer was present either. He simply had the look of a young boy trying desperately to seem tough and aloof. Dave recognized the look from the mirror every morning. 

Sliding off the stool, he slipped past Dave, neither making eye contact nor saying a word; Dave pretending as though he hadn’t just spent three minutes staring slightly transfixed at him. It was his turn after a tall, silent, and deeply tanned man and a perky redhead with the most unfortunately large ears that Dave had ever seen. Sitting down on the warmed stool, Dave lifted his chin and stared into the black box of a camera. The physician bobbed around under the cloth, fiddling with some sliver knobs on the outside before holding up three fingers in a silent countdown.

The flash was blinding and left Dave with spots twirling drunkenly behind his eyelids. The physician waved him away with a cheery promise of having someone drop the print off within a few days. Two were taken; one for the military files and one that the recruit was free to do whatever they wanted to with. Most sent it off to family, friends, or some dame back at home. 

Dave had already written an accompanying letter to Rose, something scrawled out over various nights, some sections short and tense and cramped after a long day of aiming and running, others meandering and pondering from when he couldn’t seem to sleep no matter what. Those sections came to grow odder and odder as sleepless nights piled up; each line running in to the next with no real topic or purpose or meaning and sometimes he made stupid puns that were a far cry from the level of aloof coolness he tried to maintain.

But it was neither the time nor place to dwell on letters, though he was fairly certain that he was running out of stamps. It was both the time and the place to quick march to the practice field. 

Dave would never admit it but Vantas did command a certain form of respect; whether it was giving willingly or not was a different matter entirely. Partially he demanded it; a Sergeant Major is always to be obeyed by a lowly recruit, but there was something about his manner, no matter how frantic and loud and emotional it could get, that made you want to listen, even if just to deride him later. Perhaps a leader prompting derision wasn’t the best sort of leader, but by Jove it was pretty much all Dave had for the moment. 

Slowing his pace to a decently meandering speed, Dave joined his training squad on the field just as Vantas was dividing them up into teams for a camouflage exercise. “Strider, so glad you decided to show up. Nitram told me what Captor wanted you to do. Next time you tell him that you are my trainee first of all and that is your most important duty. Now according to my schedule here you’re over due to work with me in a field exercise. Isn’t it just your lucky day Strider?” Vantas enquired with a slight smirk. It wasn’t that they didn’t get along, though they didn’t, it was more that working in a small team on a training exercise required a level of trust simply not present in their working dynamic. “Just grin and bear it. If you’d have been here on time, you would have heard that I won’t see you until you make it over to Europe. I’m being shipped out tomorrow to deal with some shit. So I was told that Captor will be combining you guys with his squad and training you for a week or so before you’re shipped over too.”

The expressions on his teammate’s faces ranged; most weren’t even paying attention, having already heard the news earlier, and it seemed only Tavros looked even a touch upset. Dave couldn’t say he felt much more than a developing stomach ache from the dinner meat. Sure, Vantas was known as one of the better Sergeant Generals on base but that didn’t mean he’d miss the man. Captor had seemed infinitely cooler the few times he’d had to work with him, so he wasn’t particularly emotionally moved at all.

“Alright, I know you’re all just about to start bawling your sissy eyes out, but we’ve got to get a jump on this exercise. Everyone’s watches are synced and you have exactly ten minutes to conceal yourself. And then an hour for us to find you. Hide well,” Vantas said with a shark like grin, turning around and closing his eyes, motioning for Dave to do the same.

Dave managed to stay silent for all of twenty seconds. “So basically we’re playing a game of hide and seek. Good to know the military trains their soldiers with the same games children play.” The sun, emitting the last few rays of warmth, shinned a golden haze along the bottom of Dave’s closed eyes, softly warming his face. Vantas scoffed, shading his eyes with a hand to peer down at his watch.

“Please, this is much more sophisticated. They have to use all of their camouflage skills and we must use our finest tracking abilities to find them. Like a mock search and rescue mission. You are required to follow my orders in this mission,” Vantas said, his voice growing louder. “Don’t think we haven’t noticed your little problem with authority. In a life or death situation, disobeying your commander could kill you or a fellow soldier.” 

Hands in his pockets, Dave shifted and opened his eyes. “Sergeant Major, I know. I can work just fine under order.” Vantas turned slightly. His disbelief was smeared across his face, captured in the quirk of his eyebrows. “I saw your assessment of me, sir. You know I’m ready for deployment.” 

“How the hell did you see the assessments?” Vantas snapped, folding his arms. “Those are classified.” 

“Captor showed me them. Said it was fine for me to see it as long as someone your rank or higher showed me. Glad to know you think I am ‘perfectly competent’ and ‘a strong leader’.”

“Strider, you’re on dangerous ground. You’re still a trainee and your tone is not acceptable. I’d put myself back in line pretty damn fast if I was you.”

Glancing down, Dave fell silent. The last thing he needed was a dishonorable discharge. He could visualize the disappointment on Rose’s face, the whispers of his neighbors. The military was never what he dreamed of when he was younger. He had often thought of maybe being a director. The cinema had always had the strongest lure over him on a Friday night, and whenever he had a bit of money he was back more than once. As a boy, he couldn’t imagine going to war, and he still couldn’t after Dirk had enlisted. When all he had left of Dirk was memories, the thought of leaving another boy across the world brother-less made him cringe. But the government was not swayed by sentiment, and here he was, and here he would stay. 

“That’s ten minutes. There’s no way we’re losing this Strider.”

“Don’t snap your cap Vantas, I’m ready.” Stretching to the sky, Dave fell into a salute. Vantas rolled his eyes. Together they moved towards the woods, tread silent.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the war continues.

It was raining. That was all it had done since Dave had arrived in England. He’d heard that it tended to rain, but this was something ridiculous. They had been running shooting drills in the rain, and it was no treat trying to load a pistol while running through a patch of mud that stunk like the breath of the devil. Dave had to be grateful for the fact that he hadn’t seen Sergeant Major Vantas since he had arrived. Supposedly he was off on some hostage seeking mission, and had been last heard from about a week ago. The tension was palpable in Sergeant Major Captor’s shoulders every time he received an official looking white envelope. 

He always shook his head after reading it. 

Tavros had been assigned to the same squad as Dave; not that either had expected anything different. However, unlike Dave, who had been placed in the scout group, Tavros’ ability with the rifle had dropped him firmly in the rifle group. There were a few British guys on their squad, as well as a number of American recruits. Dave got along fine with all of them, minding the occasional spat with a British gunman named Jake. 

They were being deployed in two days. They were to land in France, but no one had been told much beyond that. Security reasons, Captor had said, eyes shifting. He told them to get writing their final letters because they might not be coming back. They might not have a chance to write anything and it was promised that if they were found with a letter on their dead body, it would be delivered to the addressed. Dirk hadn’t left a letter. Dave had never gotten a final letter from him, not even a bloodstained bit of paper. It wasn’t surprising, based off the fact that they were hard pressed to find bits of his body bigger than a baseball. 

Sealing his goodbye letter to Rose, Dave groped around under his cot for a stamp. Cursing, he came up empty handed. Sticking his head of his empty bunk, Dave cast a look down the hallway. Spying a man sitting on a bench near the mail drop off, Dave made off towards him. The man’s head was bent, hand moving quickly over a sheet of paper. 

“Can I bum a stamp off you?” The man sat up suddenly, startled by the intrusion. His glasses slid down his nose, and Dave was surprised to note that it was the man he had seen getting his photo taken.

“Uh, of course. I just need to find one first.” Placing the letter on the bench next to him, he fished a stamp out of his army issue pants. “This should be enough to get it to America, if that’s what you need. I mean, the accent kind of gives it away.” 

Dave smiled slightly at that, taking the stamp and quickly fixing it to the envelope. “Texas, born and raised. You know us country boys,” he replied, letting his drawl color his voice full force.

The man laughed, voice quiet. “Can’t say I really do. I’m from Washington. Don’t see many country boys up there. My name’s John by the way.”

“Dave. Who’s the letter for, if I may be so nosy as to ask?” He took a seat next to John, legs sprawled out in front of the bench. It was nice to have a casual chat like this. Most of his time was spent with his squad mates lately, and all they could discuss was the war. Voices dampened, they wondered if they’d die, made promises to stay together, wondered to themselves that if it got tough, if it came down to them or someone else, what would they do? What would they do alone with no one else to judge them, what would they do if someone was bleeding out in front of them? 

John picked up the letter and creased it, placing it gently in an envelope. “My father. I figure if I die, he’s the one I want my last words to go to. There’s no one really left anyways. I don’t have a dame or nobody who would cry if I was gone. No one besides dear old dad.” He shrugged, a cloud of melancholy clearing from his face.

Dave held up his envelope, twirling it idly. “This is going to one of my many, many ladies.” When John raised a skeptical eyebrow, he shook his head with a sharp grin. “Nah, it’s going to my neighbor.”

Not wanting to dredge up anything, John didn’t question the fact that Dave wanted his final letter to go to his neighbor. “Are you heading out soon?”

“Two days, in the infantry. How about yourself?” 

“Same here. Are you headed to France?”

Taking a glance at the clock hanging on the wall, Dave tucked his letter inside his jacket and stood up. “Yes. Maybe I’ll see you on the ship, but I’ve got to head out now. Shrapnel removal talks.” And Dave left John sitting on the bench, alone, holding his letter in his hands. 

=================================================================>

Head leaning over the railing, Tavros gripped the rails of the ship. “This is why I’m not in the navy,” he muttered. Leaning his back against the railing next to Tavros, Dave made a noise of agreement. The crashing waves and cold spray were enough to turn his stomach against itself, and he was quite thankful that the ride was not going to be terribly long. His uniform was dampened, but he had no urge to go under. It only made him feel sicker. A rivulet of water was slowly working its way down his neck.

Dry heaving, Tavros leaned up and wiped his mouth. His face was paled under his askew helmet. “Alright here lads?” Jake asked, coming up behind them. “We’ll be disembarking in about five minutes. Strider, if you’ll come with me?”

Following Jake, Dave was greeted with the sight of what looked like some sort of anti-tank gun. “M101A1 105 mm Howitzer,” Jake announced proudly, as if he had built it himself. “We need to pull it off the ship and you’re competent enough to lend a hand. So if you’ll grab that chain link over there….” Following Jake’s directions, Dave picked up part of a heavy steel chain. It was slippery in his hands, the metal cold. Tracing the chain up to where it connected to the howitzer, Dave shook his head. The damn thing looked like it was made for destruction in a cold, efficient way. Everything was made for destruction. The small knife on his belt was made for destruction. But this, this was made to kill far away, made to kill enemies Dave had never seen. It was frightening. 

“Alright, start pulling!” Jake shouted. Wrapping his hands tight around the steel, Dave leaned forward and pulled. His feet were slipping on the wet deck, but slowly they managed to pull the howitzer forward. The chain bit into Dave’s hands, the metal not warming up even slightly under his hands. Legs shaking, he continued pulling. Moving with a slow groan, it crept along on the chain with the speed of molasses. 

Rolling it down the large ship ramp was the easiest part of the journey. Sitting idly at the deportation area was a military issue jeep. “Why wasn’t this just used?” Dave snapped, massaging his shoulder. Jake shrugged, and turned away, laying out sharp directions to the jeep driver. Rolling his eyes, Dave walked away to go find Tavros. 

He found him leaning against John, slowly being walked down the ramp. “I leave you alone for two minutes and you’re trying to run off and join other squads.” Looking up at the sound of Dave’s voice, Tavros made a face. 

“I guess we’re a little late to run into each other on the ship, huh Dave? Oh, Tavros should be fine once he gets his land legs back and eats something.” Glancing away, John gave a regretful smile. “I just heard someone in my squad calling for me. Dave, try not to die. I’d like to talk to you again. Nice meeting you, Tavros.” With a final wave, John quick marched away, backpack swaying. 

Nudging Tavros in the side with his elbow, Dave tossed him a casual grin. “You going to be okay princess?”

“I’ll, uh, be just dandy soon enough. Least someone found me or I probably would have, uh, just stayed on that godforsaken ship.”

=================================================================>

There was mud on his face, there was mud on his uniform, there was mud fucking everywhere. It had seeped into his shoes, and had wormed its way under his helmet. The trenches were small and cramped, and Dave could feel Jake’s quick breath matching his. Hands shaking, he reloaded his rifle. The field ahead of them was quiet, pastoral France at its finest. Leaning forward from the trench, Tavros nodded. Cautiously standing up, Jake was the first to step out of the trench. With a hand, he waved them all up. M1919 in his hands, he crouched. Falling in step, Dave scanned the ground in front of them. A sweaty man named Equius was covering the exit of the last men, and there were no Germans in sight. 

It was the whistle of a grenade launcher that paralyzed Dave in his spot. Paralyzed him when it landed as if in slow motion in front of Tavros, who promptly threw his legs over it. Froze him when it exploded not a second later, spraying blood everywhere. Tavros sat dead still, his own blood covering his face and dripping from the small remainders of legs he had left. All that remained was his upper thighs, torn at the ends. Dave’s voice tore from his throat, his call of medic echoing over the field before Jake slapped him hard on the cheek. 

“Pull yourself together and get his legs bandaged. We’re going to move forward, as someone is clearly located up there. Once his legs are bandaged, get him in the trench. If you think he’ll make it, there was a makeshift hospital back in the encampment. Bring him there and meet up with us.” Pausing, Jake gave a firm nod of respect to Tavros, touching his head briefly as if tipping a hat.

His breath a panic, Dave fished a roll of gauze out of his medicine pack, crawling over to Tavros. “You did good buddy. You’re going to be just fine though, just let me – just let me –“ Carefully lifting one of the remainders of Tavros’ legs, Dave wrapped it tightly before doing the other one. Head lolling to the side in pain, Tavros lifted a hand to wipe his blood from his face. He only managed to smear it around more before dropping his hand in defeat. Taking a hopefully gentle grip on Tavros’ arms, Dave slid him back into the trench.

“Come on; just stay with me, okay? I have no idea what to do Tavros and I don’t know how to help you and I just need you to stay alive.” Dave muttered, rubbing his bloodied hands on the grass outside the trench. He could hear gunshots from ahead, and the roar of a howitzer firing. It wasn’t that he’d never seen anyone die. Hell, he’d shot a man the night before and slept just fine. But he didn’t know them. “I’m going to run for a medic. Jake doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about. This’ll be faster. So just stay her and stay awake. Your gun is right next to you.”

Hoping out of the trench, Dave dashed away. The encampment wasn’t horribly far, but every minute he spent running was one Tavros spent bleeding. Grass squeaking underfoot, his legs flew out from under him, crashing Dave into the ground. With a push of his hands, Dave ran again, not pausing for a moment to check himself over. His lungs felt fit to explode, each breath yanked from somewhere deep in his throat. 

The double trees that had ended the encampment flew into sight. Hands cradling his rifle, Dave stumbled between them. “I need a medic!”

There were a mere three beige personal tents scattered around the larger white medical tent. The flap of one opened, and a man who eerily resembled Sergeant Major Vantas stuck his head out. “Excuse me sir, but you appear to be in no immediate danger. There are many here who are on the verge of dying and I do ask that you please watch the privilege you hold as a non-mortally injured member of this army-“ 

“We have a grenade injury in the field and he’s fit to bleed out any minute. Not denying you any due respect sir, but will you either get the fuck out of my way or get me a goddamn medic right now?” Massaging a stomach cramp with one hand, Dave strode past the Vantas look alike into the med tent. Spying a corpsman who he had seen come in with their unit, he rushed over. It only took a quick but graphic explanation before the man was following behind him. 

“Any idea of the amount of blood lost?” 

“Trust me, I wasn’t really getting out my measuring equipment. A lot. Hold on, he’s in the trench up there.” Breaking into a sprint once more, Dave craned his neck. He could see a helmet poking up from the trench. There was no movement. Falling to his knees in the mud filled trench, Dave wrapped his fingers around Tavros’ wrist. There was a pulse. It was faint and slow, but there. 

Moving in, the corpsman judged Dave’s bandaging job. With a slight shrug, he scanned over Tavros for more injuries, opening up his kit. “You should get moving mate. Your squad’ll leave ya behind. We’ll send intel to your squad leader if he makes it through the woods.” 

Dave nodded and stood. “I’m rooting for you Tavros. Don’t let those bastards get you down.” Taking a final glance at Tavros, Dave climbed out of the trench. He thought that maybe he should have said something more meaningful. The first goddamn friend he had made in this life sentence, and it looked like he might be the one to go. Turning back, he looked at Tavros’ inert form. “Thanks.”

“Just doing my job! Now I mean it, book it on out.” The medic managed a smile before turning to Tavros.

“Wasn’t meant for you,” Dave muttered. Crouched slightly, he made his way towards the far end of the field he had last seen his squad headed for. The sun was still bearing down oppressively, sending a trickle of sweat down his back. Any slight sound caused him to snap around, gun aiming to kill. Scanning the area for any sort of cover, Dave ducked behind a tree at the edge of the field. Lain out not three feet away was a German soldier. It was clear from Dave’s vantage point that a bullet had gone straight into his head. He noted the empty grenade pouch on the man and felt a bit of satisfaction. 

The woods were more eerie than the field, all shadows and creaking branches. The woods nearby him in Texas were where he spent most of his days growing up, where he learned to climb a tree, where he broke his arm. Where Dirk had shown him how to climb a tree, where Dirk had told him to calm the hell down after he fell out of one. 

Dave told himself these weren’t those woods. And he knew it, knew it to be the truth, But how he wished they were.

A branch cracked under his foot with every other step. His bags felt heavy around his waist. The shoes wrapped to his feet were cracked and chafing. His fingers were covered in a thin sheen of gunpowder. His whole hands were smeared with a coating of blood. His whole damn body was smeared with a coating of blood, of German blood and American blood and British blood and blood blood blood. He couldn’t tell when one battle ended and the other began. 

There were some night when he sat at the fire with Tavros on one side and Jake on the other and he could be home. It was like being with friends, as if he was merely camping or something. But he’d never had many friends in Texas and the guns on their backs were a constant reminder to never drift. There were some nights when he didn’t want to roll his eyes when Jake looked at him slightly funny, out of the corner of his eyes, like Dave was going to do _something_. What that something was, Dave didn’t know but sometimes he could swear Jake looked upset by his mere presence. So he made little needling comments and tried to annoy him, if only to stop feeling like he was being both pitied and sadness inducing. He didn’t care what the hell was going on as long as it stopped.

Shifting his rifle in his hands, Dave slowly advanced. He covered himself behind trees when he could. It was slow going, peering around in all directions. His footsteps were the only noise he heard. After about ten minutes through the woods, he came to a clearing. There sat what looked like a German howitzer, with several dead men surrounding it. He noted one was a quiet American. Dave was pretty sure his name was Charles. Bowing his head in respect, Dave muttered a quiet prayer for him. The lines were half remembered from years ago, from the few times Dirk and him had gone to church. 

Following the tramped down sticks, Dave broke into a light jog. Clearing the forest, he came to yet another field. This one was clearly the remnants of a farm, the neatly plowed rows only a bit ruined by marching feet. A barn stood at the far end, a horse tethered outside it. “Will you get down Strider? You look like a right idiot,” Jake hissed up from his position between two empty bushels. 

“Look who’s talking.” Crouching down, Dave ran a quick count. He was pleased to see that everyone besides Charles and Tavros had made it mostly intact. There were bits of gauze peeking out of sleeves and scratched up faces, but nothing grave. 

Shifting from his position, Jake tossed Dave a look. “Did he make it?” Dave gave a tense nod. “Good. He’s a sharp shooter and we need men like that.”

“English, I hate to interrupt the guilt induced compliments, but why are we squatting on farm grounds?” Tapping his cocked M1919, Jake pointed it towards the barn. 

“We’ve got ourselves a little nest of Nazis up there. I think it’s about time they were smoked out," Jake said, eyes dark under his muddied helmet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Alexa.  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

Gun solid in his hands, Dave fell into formation behind Jake. Quietly stepping through the knee high weeds, everyone took the short walk to re-check their guns. Fingers ran over cartridges, hands fumbled for ammo. Crouching beneath the window of the farmhouse, Dave gestured to Equius to see if it could be opened. After a quick look into the room illuminated by the window, Equius curled his fingers under the edge of the window and pushed. With a creak, it slowly moved up. 

“Looks like you’re the only one who’s going to be able to squeeze through there, Strider ole boy. We’ll enter from the front of the house.”

“Permission to fire at will?” Dave asked, slightly mockingly. Jake leveled him a glare before rolling his eyes.

“Granted. What did you think I wanted you to do, go in and bake a cake with the bastards?” Adjusting his helmet, Dave patted himself down briefly to assure himself that he had all his supplies. A slight salute and Jake was leading the rest of the squad around front. Taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, Dave tucked his gun under his arm before maneuvering himself through the window. Hitting the floor with a soft thud, he rolled to a crouch, gun leveled at an empty room. With a few steps back, he pressed himself against the wall.

The room looked like any other one, a table with a bowl on it in the center, a painting of a man on a whitewashed wall. Footsteps quiet, Dave hugged the wall as he made his way to the doorway on the right. A voice spoke in heavy handed German from there. It sounded like the speaker couldn’t quite wrap their tongue around the guttural noises. Dave’s first thought was that it was an Italian on a lesion. Whoever it was, they couldn’t be good news. 

Peering in the room, he did a quick scan. He was clearly looking at the scene of some sort of meeting. A hat sat on a table, and three men spoke in urgent tones, each with a heavy frown on their face. Taking the opportunity, Dave moved and adjusted his gun before opening fire. The shots rang out clearly in the placid farmhouse, the sharp odor of gunpowder permeating the air. One man slumped to the table in front of him, red blood oozing out of the bullet holes in his back. Bullets left behind a tattoo on the wall. Shouting in German, one man drew a handgun and fired off several efficient rounds before toppling over. Ignoring the sudden thudding pain in his left shoulder, Dave reloaded his gun and began to fire again. 

When the last man was sprawled on the floor, a bullet through his skull, Dave lowered his gun. His hands shook slightly, bile rising in his throat as the pain in his shoulder slammed into him. It was nothing technically. Nothing compared to what he’d seen, nothing compared to what he’d done. But that didn’t change the fact that there was a bullet buried in his shoulder. Slinging his gun onto the table, Dave leaned against it, fingers prodding his bloodied wound. The wince he made when his fingers brushed over the edges soon made him stop. The quiet sound of a single set of footsteps made him pause.

Picking up his gun, Dave aimed at the very doorway he had entered through. “Lower the gun Strider, we don’t need friendly fire on the record,” Jake said sardonically, stepping into the room. “We’ve split up to search the building. Heard the gunshots in hear, figured you were taking care of business.” His mouth twisted for a second before giving in. “Good to know you’re still alive.”

“As touching as that little speech was, it’d be nice if we could put it aside for some quality medical attention.” Gesturing to his shoulder, Dave raised his eyebrows. “They weren’t armed except for one. I doubt they were expecting much of anything out here. Might be some plans stashed away somewhere, but it’ll all be in German.”

Looking over the corpse leaning on the table, Jake shook his head. “Don’t be too sure about that. This bugger’s Italian. Either way, I don’t think any of the lads in the squad can read either. If we find something, we’ll have to head to a base camp.”

“Maybe while we’re there someone could do something about my fucking shoulder? Or are you going to get off your ass and lend a hand over here?” Eyes widening slightly, Jake pulled out his first aid pouch. Using one hand to unbutton his uniform, Dave pulled his shirt away from the wound. It came away slowly, blackened and sticky with blood. Jake leaned in with a roll of bandages in his hand. 

He reached out and gently patted around the bullet hole, fingers callused and cold. Dave frowned in pain and tried to lean away. “Don’t you even think about it. I may not look like much with the ole first aid kit, but I’ve done my fair share of patch ups in the field. I’ve been a squad leader longer than you’ve been in this army and I’ve only lost five men. A bullet hole isn’t going to add you to the list. Now stop collywobbling and lean forward.” 

================================================================>

Jake hadn’t managed to get the bullet out. He determined that it would cause more bleeding to even try, so he had made Dave search the room with a bandage wrapped around his shoulder and rib cage. It only took about forty minutes to have the whole building searched and all documents gathered. Jake had taken care of searching over the dead bodies, though it had been a fruitless effort. But for the time they had spent and the lack of casualties, a small notebook in German filled with what looked like cyphers and maps was quite the prize. The rest of the loose documents were in French, and Equius had translated them to be notes on crops and livestock. Leafing through the documents, Jake wrinkled his forehead. “Yeah, we’re going to have to get this to a higher ranked officer. And Strider here managed to get himself classified an U3, so we should drag his sorry arse to a hospital.”

And so they set off, guns over their shoulders, blood drying on Dave’s uniform. His shoulder ached under the weight of his backpack, but he knew better than to complain. To complain about so light a wound made him weak. It was echoed by the image of Tavros holding himself together after his legs had blown off. If his squad mates could handle that, complaining about the relentless chafing seemed like he was but five years old. A scout by the name of Jaspers had a map out, and constantly checked it against the skyline. He seemed to be waiting for something, perhaps a landmark of some sort.

Evidently he knew what he was doing, for they ended up on the edge of a small French town. It seemed empty, and the bullet holes in the walls of buildings suggested a reason. “There’s a general hospital here, up in the old town hall,” Jaspers said, pointing to a building. “We should find some officers there.” The cobblestoned road that led to it was uphill, but at least there was no mud. Dave was fairly certain that the entire country side of France was actually just a giant mud pit. It was disgusting. He no longer remembered the color of his boots. They were merely in a perpetual state of mud-caked. 

“U3s over there,” Equius said gruffly, pointing to a line of men. Each was in a various state of distress, but clearly nothing fatal. “We’ll be upstairs, finding a commanding officer.” Falling in line behind an extraordinarily pale man with a bandage around his head, Dave watched his squad disappear up a long set of stairs. Casting a glance around the hospital, he immediately noticed what had to be the UA zone. There were a few nurses walking briskly through the section, each loaded down with various medical instruments. Groans floated through the air, and Dave could smell the blood and bile rolling out of the section. Turning away, he focused on an old ordinance map that had been left on the wall. 

He shuffled forward with the rest of the line, bored but content as the situation allowed. Allowing himself to daydream, the sudden pain in his shoulder brought him sharply to reality. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to- Strider. What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same thing, Vantas. I’m hurt. Didn’t even bother to keep track of your trainees and now you’re trying to injure them.” Dave shook his head, looking over the Sergeant Major. The bags under his eyes seemed larger, his frame thinner. 

Vantas crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Right. I should have definitely turned down a mission to follow my little bitty trainees to France. Do you want me to kiss your shoulder better too?”

“Please do. I would love to have your spitty and probably diseased lips on my open bullet wound. Come here Vantas,” Dave replied, gesturing to his shoulder. Vantas frowned in disgust, eyes trained on the injury. 

“I can’t leave you alone at all Strider. First I get wind of Tavros and now here you are.” He cut himself off, glancing into the UA zone. “Look, I gotta jet, but stop by the UA zone when you’re done. We should talk.” With that he walked away, not bothering to wait for a response. Dave rolled his eyes, used to the abrupt behavior of his first commanding officer. In the time the conversation had taken up, he had moved up to being only a few men away from treatment. Finally, a nurse with tied up black hair motioned him over. 

Her mouth set in a business like line, she told Dave to remove his shirt. “Is the bullet still in there?” Dave could barely get a nod out before her fingers were next to the wound, carefully feeling out the damage. “We’re going to need to get that removed, Mr…?”

“Strider. Dave Strider, squad 12, under the command of Jake English.” Her face brightened slightly.

“How is Jake doing?”

Dave raised an eyebrow. “Fine, I suppose. Am I going to need some sort of operation?” The nurse shook her head and turned, fiddling with an arrangement of medical tools on a bench.

She turned back, a pair of what looked like long tweezers in her hand. “We don’t have the time or equipment for a proper operation. I’m afraid I’m going to have to do this without anesthetic, so you may want to look away now.” Gritting his teeth, Dave turned his head. The metal was cold on his exposed flesh. The nurse operated quickly, but the pain of the bullet being dragged up through his skin was still palpable. His breath was coming in shuddered gasps by the time she dropped the gory bullet in a waste bin. 

She bandaged him up again, encouraging him to be careful using his shoulder for a while. “You’re free to go Dave. Take care of yourself, alright? And tell Jake to do the same. Tell him Jade said so.” She smiled at him before turning to her next patient. 

Shrugging his shirt back on, Dave headed over to the UA zone. Swallowing uncomfortably, he took a step inside it. The smell of death hung over the ward, permeating his very bones. He was sure that he would reek of the dying for his entire life. Sometimes Dave wondered if he’d be able to smell anything properly if he got back to civilian life. Maybe everything would smell like gunpowder and blood and fires and exploded grenades and mud. He wasn’t quite sure anymore. Maybe he’d wake up alone and Rose wouldn’t want to talk to him anymore, lest he make her smell the battlefield too. He hadn’t gotten a letter from her lately. He hadn’t been in one spot for more than a day or two lately. They were going somewhere, somewhere important, but they didn’t quite know where. 

Vantas was sitting next to a cot in a corner, face drawn. Skirting a nurse and a cart piled with bandages, Dave found his way next to him. The woman on the bed was not one he recognized. Bandages were wrapped around her head, covering her eyes, and her hair was completely shorn off. “Who’s the dame?”

Lifting his head, Vantas looked up at Dave. “My mission. Her name’s Terezi Pyrope. An ally on the side of the Russians. She was- is a female bomber and was shot down by some German flak guns. I had to find her and bring her back here. Suffered vision damage and some bullet injuries,” he said, each sentence sharp and tense. “They think she’ll live.”

Dave nodded, gazing down at the prone figure. She certainly didn’t look like some sort of kamikaze bomber, but one never knew. He had never really heard too much about the Russians and their tactics. It was odd. He’d always thought that the allies were working closely together, but he supposed that happened more at the top of the chain. Lower ranks like him didn’t get to hear too much of the eventual plans, lest they rat out or something. “Best of luck to your pilot girl, Vantas. What was it you needed to talk to me about again?”

“She’s not my girl. I wanted to discuss Tavros. Captor sent me news of him, but it was outdated. Said he had his legs blown off but wasn’t sure if the man had made it through all right. Give me an update on the situation.” Vantas looked expectant, like Dave had all the answers and was merely withholding them for laughs.

“Wish I knew, Sergeant Major. We were- I had to leave him fast. I haven’t been anywhere long enough to get news.”

“Here’s some news for you Strider,” Vantas snapped, eyes narrowed. “I know I ain’t in charge of you anymore but I still thought you could handle not getting yourself killed. If one of my trainees ends up dead, I’m coming after you. You’ll be getting your own squad before you know it and damn, then you’ll start to care about those little fuckers. You’ll know all of ‘em, know where they’re from, know all about their sweethearts, learn about what they wanted to do with their life. And then the kid is dead and you’ve got his little brother coming up the pipe.”

Dave clenched his teeth, working his jaw in confusion. “You talking about me, Vantas? You knew my brother?”

With a bitter smirk, Vantas shook his head. “Try talking to that squad leader of yours about something other than how weird his accent is. I’ll see you around.” He dismissed Dave with a wave of his hand, looking down at Terezi with pain etched on his face. Standing up, Dave staggered numbly out of the ward. Jake knew Dirk. Maybe. Jake maybe knew Dirk. Jake maybe knew his brother. 

And there was Jake, standing with the rest of his squad, gun slung over his back. His helmet was a mess. He needed his head shaved again, Dave decided. His whole squad did. They were all getting to be a mess. Everyone was getting to be a mess, the war was getting to be a mess, the world was getting to be a mess. Dave found it amusing that Vantas thought he’d be leading a squad of his own soon. He couldn’t handle a whole squad. He couldn’t handle other people depending on him like that. The thought of someone trusting him until their untimely death made his stomach lurch. Tavros. Tavros was his test and he failed that spectacularly. 

“Over here, my jolly good man! I do hope your shoulder has been worked upon.” Dave strode over to the group, frown kept in check. He didn’t want to confront Jake, not here, not now. But he wouldn’t forget. The fact that Jake might be the last person to see his brother alive would not be forgotten, oh no. Of course not. It would be held onto, kept close to his chest until he could pull the thought out on some dark night when his whole squad was feeling vulnerable. The last time that had happened, Equius had shown them all the picture of his best friend he kept inside his uniform. The short redheaded girl smiling next to a long haired Equius had been so far from what any of them had expected. It wasn’t the kind of thing to bring up during the day. That was what the night was for. The night was for whispering that your dad had wanted you to go into the family business and you were so desperate to escape that you joined the goddamn army. It was for joking about how you didn’t know what you were fighting for anymore, though everyone knew it wasn’t a joke. The night was for asking about your brother.

“The bullet is all gone sir. Not a trace remaining. The nurse was a real doll. Said you’d recognize the name Jade?” A smile spread across Jake’s face. No one else bothered to look up.

“That must be my cousin. Good to know she’s doing well! It’s about time we headed out men. We’ve a boat to catch in about seven hours and quite a trek to reach it. We’re meeting up with a few squads for a bit of a rescue mission. Intelligence tells us this should be a fairly quick deal, an in and out procedure. But we’re banning together just in case. Has everyone got their guns? Alright, let’s be off.”

===============================================================>

Boats still made Dave feel nauseous. It wasn’t like he had expected to suddenly become a naval captain, but he had hoped that he wouldn’t have to lie down and clutch at his stomach like a girl. And this time there was no Tavros to share his misery. His bunkmate hadn’t even been down yet. Dave assumed it was some guy from his squad, but then again, they all knew he got seasick. Jake probably had stuck some unsuspecting victim to deal with him. Rolling onto his back, Dave glared at the water stains on the ceiling. The gentle rocking of the boat made his head swim and he cursed the fact that he couldn’t blame his illness on violent waves. Hands clasped over his stomach, he closed his eyes briefly. Feeling as though he was falling, Dave quickly opened them and sat up. The blood rush made him sway momentarily. 

With a quick rotation of his shoulder, he pulled some paper out of the desk table bolted to the floor. It was about time he updated his letter meant for Rose. Things had changed and he might as well try and focus his mind elsewhere. Swallowing the tense feeling in his throat, Dave leaned the paper onto the small table. Taking a pen from his kit, he started to write. 

“Dave?” The door to his bunk opened with a low creak. “Hey, what a coincidence! Looks like you’re bunking with me. Ain’t this just Fat City?” Turning around, Dave tossed a smirk to John.

“We’ve got to stop meeting up while I’m stuck in Germsville. But yeah, nice to see you too. What’s shaking?” Dave carefully slipped the paper back in the drawer. Looks like there was some entertainment on the ship after all. Least he wouldn’t be stuck with some bozo who’d complain about the vomiting. Well, John would probably complain about the vomiting. But that was fine. He knew him. 

Flopping down on the bed opposite Dave’s, John smiled tiredly. He shrugged, hand drifting up to fix his glasses. “Nothing real exciting. My squad’s mostly been in towns, running recon and such. I’ve been getting a little training on how to operate a Howitzer, so I’m thinking I’ll be transferred soon. How’s it going with you?”

Lying back down, Dave rubbed his hand over his stomach. “The usual. Got shot at, shot some people. Found a German book; my squad got it checked out while I got bandaged up.”

“The hell happened?”

“Shot in the shoulder by a German with a pistol yesterday. The bullet’s out now, but it still hurts like the blazes. Want to see it?” Dave offered, not quite sure why he was compelled to do so. John seemed like he might express a modicum of sorrow for him, something Dave didn’t think he deserved, but desperately wanted. At the affirmative noise John made, Dave unbuttoned his uniform down to his waist before shrugging one arm out. “Here it is.”

Moving over to sit next to Dave, John let out a low whistle. “Blood’s already coming through the bandage. How’s it feel?”

“Like someone’s stabbing me. Can’t really change the bandages myself, my hand doesn’t go that far around my ribcage.”

“Where do you keep a roll?” John asked, tone business like. With a gesture from Dave, he pulled a spool of bandages out of Dave’s kit. “Hands up and don’t move, soldier.” Obeying John’s instructions, Dave sat completely still as John carefully unwound the bandages. They stuck slightly over the bullet hole, but came off easier than they did the first time he had had them changed. John’s fingers were callused, like everyone’s seemed to be, but they moved with a certain air of grace. Within minutes, Dave was re-bandaged. 

Throwing the bloodied bandages in the bin, John moved back to his bunk. “Thanks. I was afraid I’d have to go to Equius again. You ever met him? I was afraid he was going to accidentally strangle me with the bandages.” John laughed, low and quiet. “You think I’m kidding? Soon as I can move without wanting to toss up my breakfast, I’ll introduce you.”

Dave could hear John fiddling with the paper in the drawer, pulling sheets out. He assumed he was writing to his dad again, but what did Dave know. Maybe he had met a nice French girl and was planning to run away with her to the Alps and raise five kids together. Dave let out a short laugh. John laughed at Dave’s laugh and soon Dave’s stomach hurt for an entirely different reason. It was nice, he decided. To have a friend, to be able to laugh like this. The kicker always was that it was nice while it lasted. And it never lasted.


	4. Keep going

PART 4

As Jake had said, it had been a quick in and out mission. Nothing glamorous, just a transfer of hostages. According to Jake’s strongly worded and rather drunken speech after, it had been “a bang up job” and nothing short of “abso – absolutely bloody amazing”. Dave wasn’t really sure what he had been going on about. All that had occurred was a clandestine exchange of six hostages in a rather remote location. No one was actually quite sure of where the exchange had taken place. It was one of those odd commands from the higher ups, one of the little irregularities that made Dave feel like he didn’t know a goddamn thing about the war.

But it was done and now they were stuck in who knows where until the ship was back. Dave was not pleased about having to take another boat ride. Somehow Jake had managed to get his hands on a rather extensive supply of alcohol and had handed out to anyone who had so much as blinked around him. He, being drunk off his ass, had been lying next to the fire for about ten minutes, pointing up at the sky and laughing. John was a heavy weight on Dave’s shoulder, bottle of beer hanging in his right hand. His breath was heavy with alcohol, his glasses riding low on his nose. Casually sipping from the bottle of vodka incased in his fingertips, Dave shrugged John’s head into his lap and reached over to prod Jake’s ankle.

“What. You want me to show you the other planets too?” Rising on his forearms, Jake squinted in Dave’s direction.

“No no no, I want you to come over here.”

“I’m not coming over there when here is perfectly good,” Jake replied, making to lie down again.

Dave shook his head, gesturing to John. “Gotta talk to you chief, and this one isn’t budging.” Rolling his eyes, Jake flipped onto his stomach and crawled over. Stopping in front of Dave, he propped his head up on a palm and glared balefully.

“Better be worth my time Strider or you’re getting a – a demerit thing. Yup, you’re gunna go all the way back to Texas.”

“Vantas told me to ask you about someone.”

Hazy eyes suddenly grew sharp. “Ask me about who?”

‘Don’t fuck with me, English. You know who I’m going to ask about. Did you pull some strings with the higher ups to get me in your squad? Thought they wouldn’t put a guy with someone who had killed his brother.”

Jake sat up, hands balled into tight fists on his thighs. Knuckles glowed white in the dusky night. “I didn’t kill your brother. You think I wanted Dirk to die? Fuck, Dave, I’m too drunk to talk about this.” John shifted slightly, bringing the bottle to his lips to discover it was empty. He frowned at it, mumbled words fighting their way out of his mouth.

“And I’m just drunk enough. My brother’s dead, Jake, and no one seems to be able to tell me a single goddamn thing. So start talking, because fuck you.”

Dragging a hand over his face, Jake sighed heavily. “Your brother – Dirk, he was on the same squad as me. God, it was what? A year ago? Two? I’ve lost track of time.” Biting his lower lip, Jake shook his head. “Strider, I simply insist we talk about this in the morning. I can barely recall what happened today at the moment, let alone then.”

“Don’t think I’m giving you a free pass. However hung over you are tomorrow, we’re talking about this.” Accepting Jake’s answering nod as agreement, Dave turned his attention back to the bottle of vodka now resting to his left. Picking it up, he took a few halfhearted sips before handing it off to some other soldier. Too awake to sleep, he stared into the fire, fingers lingering on John’s back.

===================================================================>

“Try not to talk too loud.” Jake said, squinting at something in the distance. Stretching his legs, Dave shrugged his vague consent. No attempts would be made to control his volume if he felt Jake deserved an even more excruciating headache. His lap felt oddly, bizarrely, and slightly worryingly empty without John lying on it.

“Let’s just cut to the chase here Jake. The hell happened to Dirk?”

Digging his palms into his eyes, Jake sighed. “He was probably my best friend. Any mission that required teamwork, we were on it. We were just in sync with each other. I gave him my final letter and he gave me his, so if one of us was captured, the other one could get the letter out. We went on a mission together, and – it was my fault really, entirely my fucking fault,” he said, smile sardonic and self-pitying. “We had fought the night before. I told him I wanted to do the mission on my own, thought it was really a one person job. He accused me of just wanting to rise in the ranks. It was true, but I told him I was sick of him, told him that he was just holding me back, holding the whole squad back. So the next morning, we headed out, together, and I guess he was distracted, because he stepped right on that goddamned landmine even though it was in plain sight-” Jake cut himself off, voice thick and eyes shining.

They sat in silence for a minute, Jake pulling himself together and Dave holding himself together. “You’re the reason my brother is dead. You told me you didn’t kill my brother, but you may as goddamn well have.”

“Dave, it’s not like I was trying to kill him. But I don’t deny that it’s my fault. I know it’s my fault. You don’t think I’m not regretting that fight every day? That mission got me promoted and I wish to god it hadn’t. I wish to god I had been the one to die. You know who my letter was to? It was to Dirk. I had no one else. There would have been no one to mourn me like there was for Dirk. Jade, my cousin, she’s a sweetheart but I barely know her.” Jake looked pained, arms curled around himself.

“You said you traded letters,” Dave said, brow furrowing. “You had his letter. I never got a final letter from him.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Jake looked away, pulling something from inside his uniform. “I didn’t want to give it up. It’s all I really have left of him now. I should have sent it a long time ago, and I’m sorry I never did. Here.”

Taking the letter, Dave pretended that his hands weren’t shaking when he opened it.

_Hey Dave,_

_So, I’m dead…_

Blinking the tears back, Dave read the letter quickly. He could go over every inch of it later, when Jake wasn’t looking at him like he wanted to die. “He told me to tell you he forgives you,” Dave said awkwardly. There was nothing in the letter about that. There was a line or two about Jake, but clearly Dirk hadn’t re-written it after his and Jake’s fight. The letter crinkled stiffly when Dave refolded it. Slipping it inside his uniform, he attempted a smile at Jake.

“He might have forgiven me, but that doesn’t mean you should. Or that I can forgive myself. Look, I’ve got to go talk to some other squad leaders, so why don’t you go find that fellow that you spent the night with and go prepare for the trip back, okay? I have important business to take care of.” With a stiff nod, Jake stood and walked away.

Dave didn’t know what to think anymore. He had been so angry at Jake, so desperate to blame someone for his brother’s death. But now he really could blame Jake and he found himself haunted by the look on Jake’s face. He didn’t want to think about this. He didn’t want to sit and stew in his brother’s last words, the faded picture of him and Jake stuffed in the envelope, the picture where their arms were slung around each other’s shoulders and smiles stretched across their faces. Standing up and shaking the stiffness from his legs, Dave turned to look for John.

===============================================================>  
 _  
Dear John,_

_Fuck. I’ve got my own squad now, and I can’t even imagine being as dumb as they are. Little fucks think they’re invincible. I just heard from Tavros. He’s okay. Can’t walk anymore, but he’s okay. Heading back to the states. My group’s heading over to **[GOVERNMENT INFORMATION: CENSORED]** but maybe I’ll run into you at some point. The boss has got me on some sort of crazy schedule, wants us going from country to country like that. Just my luck, I got Vantas as my commander. He’s been more annoying than usual. Makes me wonder if everything’s fine and dandy with that Russian he had to deal with. Last I heard she was at least up and walking. Gotta jet, get back to me when you can. _

_Dave_  
-  
 _Dear Dave,_

_Congratulations on getting a squad! That is what I would say if you seemed even somewhat excited about it. But you don’t, so I guess I’ll ask what’s up with that. Or maybe I won’t, I haven’t decided that yet. I’m manning a Howitzer somewhere on the German border. It’s crazy Dave. I’ve seen more men die in the five days I’ve been here than in all the time I was on a squad. You kind of start to tune it out after a while. You have to or you’ll go crazy. I’ve been writing my dad and he asks how it is and I just lie and lie and lie. He doesn’t need to know. He bakes cakes Dave. My dad bakes fucking cakes; you think he needs to know I saw a man get stabbed in the chest yesterday? I don’t know why I’m doing this._

_Write back,_  
 _John_  
-  
 _John,_

_Why are any of us doing this? I don’t know why I have a squad. Who the hell decided that I can do this. Never mind, you didn’t ask to hear me whining about shit that doesn’t matter. How’s the howitzer? Those things are damn big. Surprising they thought you could handle something so important, Egbert. Depending on what section of Germany’s border you’re at, I might swing by to see you. Don’t think it’s for you, my squad found a **[GOVERNMENT INFORMATION: CENSORED]** and we’ve got to hand it in to Jake. He’s done well for himself; he’s head of something or other now I think. Shit, I should figure that out in case he wants me to address him by his fancy new title or something._

_Dave_  
-  
 _Dave,_

_I saw you. You didn’t see me._

_John_  
-  
 _John,_

_I saw you, asshole. I was just kind of busy. Did you see the redhead on my squad? Kid’s a walking disaster zone._

_Dave_  
-  
 _Dave,_

_I’ll be by the med tent around 19:00 hours tomorrow if you can bear to leave your team for a minute or two._

_John_  
-  
 _Dave,_

_Where were you_

_John_  
 _-_  
 _Dave,_

_Where are you_

_John_  
-  
 _Dave,_

_Write back_

_John_  
-  
 _Dave,_

_Tell me you're okay_

_John_  
 _-_  
 _John,_

_Fuck John, I’m sorry. My squad was sent off and I couldn’t get any mail or send any. It was a classified deal and I probably still can’t tell you anything but I didn’t lose anyone and this was my first big mission and I didn’t lose anyone._

_Wish I could have met you at that med tent,_  
 _Dave_  
-  
 _Dave,_

_Don’t disappear like that, you ass._

_John  
\- _

_John,_

_I'll try not to_

_Dave_

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to make this historically accurate through use of several sources. However, I couldn't find everything. If you find something inaccurate, let me know! 
> 
> Based off a headcanon by pyrates on tumblr.


End file.
